Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“Can I please have some bacon?” I ask, wondering if maybe that’s why he hasn’t put any on my tray yet, but another student meanders up beside me, nudging her tray forward.
“Get out of the way. You’re holding up the line,” she sneers, but I ignore her comment. Like I don’t exist at all, he places two strips of bacon on her tray. My mouth hangs open for half a second at his dismissal before I snap it shut. I blink slowly, my anger rising with every tick of the clock.
I’m already hungry, and now there is food in front of me, but this motherfucker wants to play games with me. I don’t think so.
“What’s the deal?” I growl.
I can feel eyes on me, and I’m doing the one thing I don’t want to do: drawing attention. But how the hell am I going to eat if they don’t serve me food? The guy on the other side of the buffet shrugs.
“If you want something to eat, we can serve you eggs, toast, and fruit.” I’m completely baffled by what this man has just said and damn near slam my tray down in frustration.
“Why?” I ask.
I already know why, but I have to ask anyway just to make myself feel better. For the first time, I truly feel singled out, but this is different because the staff is in on it too.
“I don’t make the rules. Do you want the food or not?”
My lip curls, and I have half a mind to tell him no but nod my head instead. I’m too fucking hungry not to eat. So long bacon, at least I got to smell you. He places the food on my tray along with a glass of milk, and I scan my card at the end of the line. I find a table without a person at it and sit down to enjoy my bland meal. How shitty is it that I don’t even get to decide what I eat? I wonder what they’ll try to choose for me next? Actually, no. I don’t want to think about that right now.
I eat my entire meal in less than ten bites but am still hungry. I look back up at the line. If I hadn’t been so humiliated while getting my food, I might consider getting seconds, but I’m done with today and done with the people I’ve encountered. Hell, I’m done with this school. I’m done with everything. I’m angry and annoyed and just really want to go home.
I take my tray up to the dishwasher and then leave the cafeteria. I’ve only just started down the corridor toward my dorm when my heart falls into my stomach, and the food I just ate threatens to come back up. Fear zings down my spine when someone grabs the back of my hoodie and tugs me backward.
Reaching for anything that might provide me some type of balance, my fingers are met with air. My throat constricts. This isn’t going to end well.
A second later, my back collides with the front of a very firm chest. I stand there for half a second before I turn around and am forced to crane my neck back to look up at the two men crowding me.
“I was wondering when we would see you.” Ren Petrov chuckles. “Seems the rat found us faster than I expected.”
My gaze ping-pongs between Q, who is standing as still as a statue, his penetrating gaze piercing my soul, and Ren, who is smirking like someone told him a hilarious joke.
The two of them are like Adonis, both equally as gorgeous as they are dangerous. I try not to notice how attractive Q is with his sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes, and unruly black hair. His clothing hugs his chiseled body, and I take a step back, trying to put some distance between the three of us. I told myself I would stay under the radar, protect myself, and keep my mouth shut. The problem is, everything has started to compound, and the reason for all my problems, or at least a part of my problems, is standing right in front of me.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than torment me? My life’s shit as it is, and I don’t need the two of you heaping more onto it with your bullying antics.”
I’ve never been the type to sit down and shut up, but something tells me right now should’ve been one of those instances. Too bad, at this moment, there’s no one to stop me or tell me that I’m basically signing my own death certificate. The objective was to steer clear of him and his family, not put a bright red X on my back.
“Excuse me?” Q blinks, his gaze turning feral in a flash.
All I can hear is the swooshing of blood in my ears. Q takes a step toward me, and instantly, I’m in a trance, a rabbit caught in a trap. I’m not sure where the courage comes from to say what I do next, but it’s something I’ll come to regret. I know it.